Page 63 of Wicked Sinner
“The baby,” she whispers, biting her lip. "Oh God, what if?—"
"Hey." I reach out to press my hand against her cheek, my entire body reacting to the feeling of her warm skin against my palm as I turn her face so that she has to look at me. "You're both fine. You're both going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to either of you."
She searches my eyes, and I can see the moment she decides to trust me. It's a small victory, but right now I'll take what I can get.
"Who would do this?" she whispers. "Who would want to hurt me?"
"I don't know yet," I admit. My suspicions aren’t going to make any sense to her, not until I have more concrete proof. "But I'm going to find out."
I don’t leave the room as Dr. Ackley begins to examine her. I can’t. I can’t let her out of my sight for even a moment. I watch as she checks Bridget’s blood pressure, examines her to make sure the baby is alright, cleans and numbs the gunshot graze before beginning to stitch it up, restless and tense. I can tell the doctor wants me to go, but I stay where I am, watching anxiously.
Bridget is pale and exhausted by the time Dr. Ackley bandages the wound and finishes up. “Mother and baby are overall fine,” she says calmly, packing up her things. “She should get as much rest as possible, healthy food, and try to remain calm and relaxed. I’ll come back to check on the stitches in a few days, and I’ll leave you with supplies to keep the dressing changed.”
I nod, escorting her out before reminding her to send me the bill and immediately heading back up to check on Bridget. She’s sitting up, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need a shower,” she says exasperatedly. “Or, I guess, a bath since I can’t get this wet.” She gestures to the dressing covering her calf.
I start to go to help her, and she waves me off. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” I look at her, the tiredness from the day hitting me all at once, too. “Just let me help you, Bridget. Haven’t I proved, at least, that I do care about keeping you safe?”
She looks at me for a long moment, her full lower lip tugged between her teeth and her eyes narrowed. And then, finally, she nods.
“Alright. You can help me to the bath. But then you’re leaving.”
I help her up, letting her support her weight with her arm on my shoulders as we walk to the bathroom. I get her toiletries from the other bathroom while she fills the tub, setting them out for her as she watches me silently. She gives me a pointed look as she turns off the water, and I know that’s my cue to go.
“I have to go out for a while,” I say after a moment. “There are some things I need to handle. I’ve already called for more security outside of the penthouse.”
“In case I decide to run?” Bridget gives me a sarcastic smile, and my mouth tightens.
“In case someone else comes after you,” I tell her flatly, but we both know they’re there to keep her here as much as to keep others out. “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll bring dinner with me.”
She nods, and there’s nothing else for me to say.
Even after everything that’s happened today, as I shut the door behind me and know she’s in there getting undressed, slipping into the hot water, I can feel myself getting hard at the thought of her naked. I want her badly, and it feels like too much to hope that something might have changed.
I have no idea what’s going to happen now. Only that I have to make sure she’s safe, no matter what it takes.
I’m tense for the entire drive to Tristan’s mansion. I’m held up at the gates, where the guards call after getting my name and, after a moment, let me through. By the time I’ve pulled up in front of the mansion that used to belong to Giovanni Russo, I see Tristan striding down the stairs.
He looks irritated as he approaches. “Caesar. I don’t recall inviting you to my house?—”
"Someone tried to kill Bridget today." My voice is deadly quiet, and I can see him tense. "Three professional gunmen, armed and coordinated. They killed my guards and would have killed her if she hadn't been smart enough to fight back and run away to hide."
Tristan’s jaw tightens, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any idea who?—"
"Cut the shit, O'Malley." I take a step closer, my hand twitching reflexively toward my hidden gun. "We both know you've been pushing back against my return from day one. We both know you'd prefer to see the Genovese territory absorbed into your empire."
"That's business," Tristan says calmly. "This sounds personal."
"Everything is personal when it comes to my family." Another step closer. "Bridget, my child—they're off-limits. Touch them again, and I'll burn your entire organization to the ground."
Tristan sucks in a breath. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I know you’re upset, Genovese, but?—”
"I'm not upset," I interrupt, my eyes still locked on him. "I'm making a promise. If anything happens to Bridget, if she so much as gets a paper cut, I'm coming for you. And when I do, there won't be enough left of you to fill a tin can."
